If you’re under the age of 12, this may be a spoiler alert on life:
When was that young, single digit, age, I really had two beliefs that are infallible. Two beliefs that would lead to fights in the playground and knockout blows on the school bus.
Santa Claus is real.
Wrestling is DAMN real.
Yeah, I was the kid that had to be subjected to the assholes in his class, who figured it out way too early, telling me Santa was fake. No way he could fly to all those houses. Anyone ate that many cookies along with their milk they’d be diabetic in an hour. The usual.
And I faltered.
But you could not tell me that Hulk Hogan did not body slam Andre the Giant at WrestleMania 3 in front of 90,000 fans. You couldn’t tell me that just because there was a cartoon, it wasn’t real. I did grow up in the era of a cartoon based on Michael Jordan, Wayne Gretzky, and Bo Jackson. You couldn’t tell me that these guys didn’t retire to seperate locker rooms after the match.
But at some time, things started to fall apart. The logic. The myths. They didn’t begin to add up.
Why were all of the claymation specials so different. Why didn’t they talk about Santa at the New Year’s Eve Mass.
And Hogan got beat by the Ultimate Warrior and Sgt. Slaughter went to the dark side.
Of course, all of this is out in the open. Bad Santa and Ready to Rumble taught us this.
2 thoughts on “The Unfortunate Truths.”